The Knights of the Silver Staff - Book II
by Sir Brodequin le Noire
Summary: These are the adventures of two of the most famous Knights of the Most Holy Order of the Silver Staff. Join Lady Sarra Brodequin le Noire, Undead Hunter, Sir Gant du Roche Grise, dwarf cleric, and their companion Gurk the half-ogre, as they quest across the lands of the Five Cities, fighting evil at every turn!
1. Information

(I apologize for the formatting of this chapter. It would nice if you could leave spaces between sections, but if there is a way to do this, I haven't figured it out yet!)

 **PREFACE**

This is a story based in one of my fantasy worlds, the Five Cities, which are five separate City-States surrounding a huge swamp called the Merecage. For this world, I have used Frankish and French for character and place names, which probably stems from my love of Sir Thomas Malory's "Le Morte D'Artur". A lot of the knights in those stories have French names, because Malory translated the text from French. I am also of French lineage (having LaPlante as a surname).

I am using the 1st edition rules of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, which is the edition I played in my youth. I have tweaked a few things here and there with bits and pieces of other versions of the rule set, but have mostly tried to stay true to the 1st ed. rules.

My favorite race in D&D has always been the dwarfs, and my favorite characters clerics and paladins. I love the idea of noble knights traipsing across the lands in search of adventure. I have tried to portray my knights as compassionate warriors, not preachy, snobby, arrogant jerks.

I have tried to deviate from stereotypes as much as possible. None of my dwarfs come from mountains; humans and dwarfs all live together. Dwarfs are not miners and gold-hoarders, they are lovers of music. They don't all fight with battle axes and hammers. They don't speak in Scottish accents and guzzle down barrels of ale.

In this world, these are only two "character" races, humans and dwarfs. I don't use elfs, gnomes, halflings, etc. As for monsters, I only wanted to use a handful, and those are mostly creatures that are found within and around a marshland.

Magic-users are scarce, as are magic items. Clerics are more prevalent in this world, most belonging to the Most Holy Order of the Silver Staff.

I have tried to base this world on the Northeastern US (where I live) in the 1830's, right before the Industrial Revolution. Guns are rare in this world, but they exist, mostly flintlock rifles and older muskets. There are trains in this world, but they are extremely rare, and hardly what we would recognize as a train today. Trains in that area were more like boilers on wheels attached to a line of carriages for the passengers.


	2. Prologue

The guard shut the door behind the two knights, grunting something about sitting and waiting. Silence settled over the small granite room. It was empty except for a rectangular table with chairs, and a fireplace burning with a low fire to ward off the early summer morning's chill. A door was set into the opposite wall. The guard went and stood next to this door, standing straight and tall, his eyes forward, clutching his flintlock rifle.

The guard watched the two as they took their seats. One was a woman, clad in full plate mail armor, black in color. She wore an open-faced bat wing helmet, with a large opal set into the center. A red cloak hung from her shoulders. Her boots were of fine, black leather. Her eyes, sky blue and hard, briefly rested on the guard before turning away.

She was tall, taller than most men, and judging by her face, she had seen her share of winters. Her hair was long and thick and shockingly white.

She clutched a six-foot staff made of cold iron, with a knobbed head at either end. It was known as a staff-mace, and its name was Shatterskull. She leaned it against the table, reached up to remove her helm, and gently lay it down on the table.

Sitting, she removed her leather gauntlets, lay them down next to the helm, and sat quietly, back straight, head high, her eyes fastened on the door on the far side of the room.

The other was a dwarf. He stood a little over four feet tall, with a medium-length black beard and long black hair that he wore combed back from his forehead. He also wore plate mail, but his was fashioned of shiny, polished steel. He wore a bastard sword strapped across his back.

The guard was fairly new, so he didn't know these two, but he assumed they were Knights of the Most Holy Order of the Silver Staff. They both wore round, silver amulets around their necks decorated with the device of the Order; two staffs crossed in an "X" pattern.

Hearing footsteps approaching the room from behind the closed door next to him, the guard announced the person's arrival.

"Lady Everelda, Holy Paladin of the Most Holy Order of the Silver Staff," said the guard.

The door opened, and a woman entered.

She was perhaps in her forties, with brown hair and brown eyes. She wore her graying hair in a bun, and was clad in a purple robe decorated with golden embroidery. She had a pinched face, with ferret eyes and thin lips.

She smiled thinly at the pair, and bowed courteously. "Good morrow to you, Lady Sarra Bootblack, Guardian Knight of the Most Holy Order of the Silver Staff. Good morrow, Sir Gant Glintspear, Guardian Knight of the Most Holy Order of the Silver Staff."

Sarra and Gant stood and bowed in return, both saying nearly in unison "Thank you m'lady. It is an honor that you have called upon me."

The woman got down to business. "Lady Sarra, Sir Gant, know you aught of Spider Gates Cemetery?"

"A little," Sarra said. "It lies in the Merecage. We've never had trouble there before. Has something changed?"

"Not within the cemetery itself. But someone has recently taken an interest in it. A few days ago, a group of mercenaries made their way from Dinard to the cemetery. Our informants report they were in search of a "mighty artifact". Our records of the cemetery are far from complete, but we did find a reference to an ancient and powerful cleric of the Nightgod Grumokk who is buried there. His name was Bhavroth. He died over three hundred years ago. He was a Necromancer, who tried to create a kingdom of undead, so he could install himself as their ruler."

"So he was insane, too," Gant grinned.

Lady Everelda pursed her lips at knight for speaking out of turn. "Perhaps. But that has no bearing on the matter. Our records indicate that this Bhavroth may have been buried with an unholy staff, made of black obsidian, that gave him the power to create and control undead. It is possible that there is no connection between this band of mercenaries and the staff, but we cannot be sure. We feel that this staff will be safer in our hands."

"And you want us to retrieve it," Sarra said.

"Precisely."

Sarra bowed her head. "As you wish, m'lady. We will journey to this cemetery and search for this staff."

"Oh, if you happen to find it, Sarra, do not touch it with your bare hands. Do not let it touch your bare skin or any other part of your body. This staff is thoroughly and utterly evil. And be cautious. This staff may be sentient."

Sarra nodded curtly. "I am aware, m'lady."

"Then I give you your leave. Go forth with Mother Amandine's blessings upon your heads, and return victorious."


	3. Chapter 1

Sarra was in her private apartment in the Grand Temple, packing for her quest. Into her worn and ragged backpack, she placed a water skin, and a week's worth of dried rations. From the drawer of her nightstand, she pulled a small and weathered book. It was _The Tome of the Undead_ , by Sir Brodequin le Noire. Sir Brodequin was the knight who had started the Order of the Silver Staff two hundred years ago. A copy of this book was issued to all squires in the Order, and they were commanded not only to read it, but to memorize it. Sarra had done so, of course. She didn't need to take the book with her, but she always did, for some reason. What that reason was she never really knew. Perhaps it was for luck, but a knight never relied on luck. A knight's fate was in the hands of Amandine.

She took a ring from the nightstand drawer, and slipped it on her finger. It was a silver ring set with a blue tourmaline, and it was enchanted. This ring made its wearer totally immune to natural cold, and mostly immune to magical cold effects, such as the touch of a shade.

Sarra had just put on her pack and grabbed her mace, when a loud knock sounded on her door

"Come in, Gurk!" the hunter called. The door opened, and a hulking creature entered.

Gurk was a half-ogre, who stood nearly eight feet tall. His skin was pale yellow and covered with large warts that were a darker shade of yellow than his skin. His teeth and fingernails were black, his eyes purple with white pupils, and his dark green hair hung down his back in a thick braid.

He wore no armor, just a simple homespun white shirt and a brown vest. His breeches were plain and worn, as were his huge boots. He was uglier than a deformed hobgoblin, and dumber than a box of rocks, or so most people said. Perhaps that was so, but Sarra didn't care.

Ogres were plentiful in the lands of the Five Cities, but half-ogres were nearly unheard of. No one knew where he had originally come from. But five years ago, Sarra, who was returning from her Knight's Quest at the time, found the poor creature lying in a ditch on the side of the Dinard Trail. He was bloody and beaten and nearly dead. Realizing he was a half-breed, she could guess how he had come to this, lying half dead on the side of the road. A half-ogre living among ogres would always be the runt of the tribe, subject to abuse and torment by the larger ogres. The thought of it made her face burn with anger, and her heart went out to the poor creature.

She did what she could for him, and hastened back to Dinard, returning with a retinue of clerics and paladins riding in a wagon. The clerics healed him. Sarra and the knights picked him up and lay him gently in the wagon, and returned to the Grand Temple.

Krina claimed him for her own, which at first was a bitter point of contention between her and the Most Holy Paladin, Sir Everard de la Roche Grise. Krina had won that argument by repeating Dictum Four of the Code of Knighthood _, "Always give succor to widows and to orphans"._ Sir Everard was about to point out that Sarra couldn't prove he was an orphan, but he decided to let her have her way. She was right, after all.

The knights soon learned that, despite his bulk and fearsome appearance, the half-ogre was indeed a gentle giant. He had a certain innocence about him. He was loyal to a fault to Sarra and the other knights, and slow to anger. The only time he lost his temper was when he saw someone or something threaten Sarra. He did battle when he had to, but he seemed to regard it as a game, for he giggled like a child as he bashed apart his enemies with his huge sledgehammer.

He could not speak much Ogrish, and no Common at all. The only word he had kept repeating over and over to Sarra was 'Gurk'. She assumed it was his name, so she began addressing him as such. Over the years, Sarra had been able to teach him many simple words, but she doubted that his vocabulary would ever increase beyond that.

Gurk had a tender fondness for nature and animals. He was well-known by the knights for taking stray cats into the Temple, and taking diligent care of them. The knights, especially the Most Holy Paladin, were not thrilled with this situation, but they all had high regard for Lady Sarra, so they let the half-ogre do as he would.

Sarra smiled as she recalled a time when one of Gurk's cats had a litter of kittens. The half-ogre had gently picked up each of the tiny kittens and held them in his hand, staring at them in wonder. He called them pretty, and then began to cry. And that was why Sarra loved him.

After opening the door, Gurk stood still, like a loyal hound, his eyes on Sarra.

"How are you today, Gurk?" the hunter smiled.

"Good," said the half-ogre, in a deep, resonant voice. He smiled unabashedly. "Hungry."

"You're hungry? Of course. We must break our fast before we embark for the Merecage. We're going on a quest."

Gurk's eyes sparkled. "Quest!" he cried.

They went downstairs to the kitchen, and Sarra sat down at a large table. Gurk remained standing. He had learned long ago that none of the chairs or benches would hold his weight.

Gant came down soon after, ready for the journey. He wore his blue cloak and carried a backpack as well. A footman's mace hung from his belt, and a long bow and quiver of arrows were strapped to his pack. He still wore his bastard sword Singe, so called because it was a Flame Tongue, a sword that would burst into flame at its wielder's command.

The dwarf plopped himself down in a chair. "Where's the grub? I'm not going questing on an empty stomach! It smells good in that kitchen!"

Gant fidgeted in his seat, finally getting up and clanking his way into the kitchen. Sarra heard him good-naturedly chewing out the cooks and scullions for being lazy roustabouts.

The undead hunter yawned, and rubbed her eyes. She was tired, as she was every morning after she had the Dream. It seemed to be happening more and more often. It always woke her shaking in terror, and she had a hard time going to sleep afterwards. She wondered if the Dream would ever go away. It had been with her for five years.

Soon the table was set for a grand breakfast. The servers set out a large pot of oatmeal, served with bacon, eggs, cheese, bread, pickles, and ale. The half-ogre and the dwarf stuffed their faces, while Sarra ate slowly and with delicate grace. She glanced at the pickles and couldn't help smiling. They were the dwarf's favorite food, and she was almost certain that when they left for the Merecage, he would have a jar of them stowed in his pack.

Once they were full, they prepared to set out. Gurk went up to his apartment to get his pack and weapons, an eight foot spear and a six-foot sledgehammer.

The three left the Grand Temple, and headed towards Melina's Gate, the eastern gate of the city of Dinard. The road beyond, known as Melina's Road, cut through the Merecage in a northeasterly direction, leading to the city of Verdun, fifty miles away. Sarra consulted the map that she had gotten from the temple library, showing the location of the Spider Gates cemetery. It lay about ten miles north of the road, nearly in the exact center of the Merecage. It would take them an entire day to get to the spot where they would have to abandon the road and strike out north through the swamp.

Sarra turned to Gant. "I trust you've prepared the appropriate prayers for today?"

The dwarf snorted. "Of course! What do you think clerics do? You ask that every time we go on the road!"

"And I will continue to do so," the hunter said with a slight smile.

At first, Melina's road was paved with red bricks and well-maintained, but the further east they traveled, the worse the road became. Not many people braved the terrors of the Merecage. It was full of all sorts of nasty monsters, including giant water snakes, giant frogs that could swallow a person whole, giant spiders, and the shamblers, which were intelligent, carnivorous plants. The swamp was also the home of the lizard men, who were fiercely territorial. Sarra knew they would have to cross through several tribes' territories at certain points of their journey, but she hoped they could do so without any notice and without any trouble. Sometimes the lizard men tribes near Dinard liked to barter with travelers, although Sarra had always wondered what a lizard man could possibly have to barter with.

The road began to narrow and deteriorate as they moved into the marsh. Grasses and weeds, shrubs and even trees sprang up between the gaps in the bricks. Great pools of dark and stinking water spread among the trees on either side of the trail. Up ahead, the road seemed to meander through a field of tall rushes.

A breeze blew towards them from the east, stinging their nostrils with the bitter odor of decaying vegetation. Sarra noticed how alive the swamp was. She could hear the twitters of many kinds of birds, and hear things shuffling in the underbrush. From far away, it seemed she heard faintly the snort of some kind of large reptile, but she couldn't be certain.

Gant suddenly grabbed Sarra's arm.

"What is that?" He pointed, and Sarra followed his finger to a glowing globe of pale, blue light that hovered over the water some thirty feet away. The globe hovered ten feet off the ground, and vibrated ever so slightly. It suddenly retreated away from them, and soon disappeared among the twisted, gnarled trees and verdant underbrush of the morass.

"I think that is a willow wisp," Sarra said softly, watching the shivering globe.

"This place gives me the creeps," the dwarf muttered. "Some quest. We're knights, for the love of Amandine! We shouldn't be out here plodding through the muck."

They continued on their way, coming to places where the swamp had claimed the road, and they were forced to wade through the smelly water. They marched for two hours.

About twenty feet ahead of them, the road turned suddenly around a stand of tall trees. A gang of figures came into view from around the corner. They were six feet tall, with black scales, and the appearance of upright, walking lizards. They carried javelins and clubs, and as their black eyes fell upon the group, they came to a sudden, tense halt.

The knights and Gurk did the same, and the two parties stood staring at each other for a few seconds. Gant's hand went reflexively to Singe's hilt, but Sarra stopped him with a look. She stood leaning on her mace.

"Try to look non-threatening," she whispered. "Sometimes they can be welcoming to strangers, depending on the situation."

"Non-threatening?" the cleric hissed. "Tell that to the ogre! Do we fight?"

"No," said Sarra. "Not unless they attack us first."

The lizard folk looked at each other, turning to confer with the tallest among them. He nodded vigorously, his eyes focusing on Gurk as he pointed a clawed hand towards him.

"What are they saying?" Gant whispered.

Sarra fixed him with a scowl. "You know I don't speak their language. I have no idea."

The entire party of reptilian humanoids seemed greatly excited, but in a positive way. The tall one stepped forward, placing his weapon on the ground. He held his hands at his sides, and bared his fangs to them. He spoke in his own tongue, a mixture of hisses and growls.

"They're showing friendship," Sarra said. "They won't attack. They may want to barter with us."

"Oh, yeah," Gant grumbled. "My sword for a necklace of lizard teeth. Good trade."

The hunter sighed. She stepped forward, imitating the lizard man's posture and body language. Gant smiled broadly, dropping his bow and holding his hands up over his head.

"Good morrow! We're Knights of the Most Holy Order of the Silver Staff! You speak Common? Good day to you, Denizens of the Merecage! What can we do for you?"

Sarra turned back and scowled at the cleric. "What are you doing? They don't speak Common!"

The dwarf shrugged. "You don't know that for a fact."

The tall lizard began speaking Common in a hissing, gravelly voice.

"Greeting, Scaleless Ones. Be happy to see Life Water! I call myself Grurtkaa, hunter of tribe that calls itself Green Arrow. I am bad way, and hope you give help. The son of uncle say I steal his javelin of magic. We cannot go until play Game to see truth. You help see truth?"

"Told you," Gant muttered. "Although I have no idea what they're talking about."

The dwarf stepped up next to Sarra and addressed Grurtkaa. "Oh, yeah, the Game, right? Who doesn't love the Game of Truth? We've played it lots of times, for sure! In fact, we're sort of experts at it, you know. We're the best Game players east of the Merecage, as a matter of fact!"

Sarra scowled down at the dwarf. They didn't have the luxury of being sidetracked by some silly game.

"What game?" she whispered to the cleric.

"Damned if I know!"

He turned back to the lizard men. "What is this game? How long does it take? Because we're on a quest, you know."

Grurtkaa seemed well-pleased by the dwarf's words. "All is happiness! Gracious to Spirits! The game is Game of Truth, Game of Spirits, Game of Three Bloods! Spirits decide who right, and we see truth. If you win Game, I no stolen javelin. If my kin's warrior win, I do steal javelin and I die with swords. The Spirits see truth, and make you win!"

"I have a game, too," Gant muttered, "It's called Chop These Scaly Idiots to Pieces."

"It seems to be some kind of duel of honor," Sarra said to the dwarf.

She called out to Grurtkaa. "Will you show us where we are to play the Game?"

The lizard man nodded, turned and began moving up the trail, the others trailing behind him. The knights and the half-ogre followed them, and before long, they came to a large tree that had fallen across the road. It spanned a stretch of water to their left, its top lying on another tussock of land. The lizard men scrambled up onto the tree and walked across, with the knights and Gurk following some distance behind. Neither Sarra nor Gant needed to warn each other that this could be a trap. They knew they could have simply declined the lizard man's offer to play the Game, but they wanted to avoid a battle if at all possible.

After jumping down off the fallen tree, the group walked well-traveled path. Before long, they reached a vast clearing with several grass huts set up around a huge central fire pit. The place was filled with female and young lizard folk, going about various tasks, or playing boisterously.

The hunting party stopped, and the leader cried out in a loud voice. All the other lizard folk looked to him, and stared in wonder at the knights and the huge half-ogre. From the largest tent emerged a giant, black-scaled lizard, who seemed likely to be the chieftain. He wore a necklace of what looked like young dragon's teeth. He hurried up to Grurtkaa, and the two conversed in their language. Another lizard emerged from another hut. He was old, with dull scales, and many broken or missing teeth. He carried a staff adorned with brightly-colored feathers and various shells and pebbles. He was most likely the village shaman.

He spoke with Grurtkaa and the chieftain. After a few minutes, the three nodded, and the chieftain turned to his tribe and began speaking.

Another lizard man came out of one of the huts, with a hobgoblin in tow. These new arrivals listened intently, their eyes focused on the newcomers as the chief spoke. They nodded and went back into the hut.

Grurtkaa turned to the party. "All is happiness! Shak has warrior, who is hobgoblin. I want ogre to fight but chief says no. Shak has say he demand the Game of Three Bloods. Whoever bleeds three loses Game. Who want fight in Game of Three Bloods? Black lady or dwarf?"

Sarra nudged the cleric. "You are always saying how much you hate hobgoblins."

"True, but what is this _three bloods_ business?"

"Gant, you should know that. We do the same thing when we fight in an honor duel. The first one to take three wounds loses the contest."

The dwarf scowled as he summed up the ugly hobgoblin, who had come back out of the tent with Shak. He was typical for his race, with a hairy, reddish-brown hide, a bright red face, and a blue nose. His eyes were large and yellow and reminded the dwarf of frog eyes. He was big, but the cleric had fought and defeated bigger. "All right, you got yourself a fighter!"

Grurtkaa nodded happily and took Gant's arm, pulling him to the center of the village to one side of the central fire pit. The hobgoblin took up his position. He now wore a shimmering shirt of chain mail and wielded a large battle ax. The hob grinned, revealing yellowed and broken teeth.

The lizard folk crowded around the two fighters, staying at a respectable distance to give them room to do battle. Some of them started playing drums and flutes, and others danced wildly. The shaman chanted continuously. Gurk sensed that something fun was about to happen, and he stared with wide eyes at the two combatants.

"Sounds worse than a drunken bard," Gant muttered as he unsheathed Singe. As a cleric, the dwarf could recite a prayer and ask for Amandine's blessing to help him win this battle. But as a knight, he couldn't take any unfair advantage against the hobgoblin. The same applied to using the magical flaming effect of the bastard sword, the dwarf figured.

The hobgoblin sneered at the cleric. "Well, well, little one, this will be fun! These lizards know how to throw a party, eh? Just in case you don't understand them, this here's the Game of Three Bloods, see? The first one of us to take three wounds loses. No killing, if we can help it, right? But sometimes things get out of hand, don't they? Well, come on, twerp, show me what you got!"

Gant shot the hob his fiercest scowl. Suddenly raising his sword, he shouted the Order's battle cry. " _La mort avant le deshonneur!_ "

Gant was short and covered in heavy plate armor, but he was still quick. He charged the hob, who slashed out at him with his ax, hoping to decapitate the dwarf. But Gant ducked at the last second and lashed out with his blade, cutting across both of the hob's legs. The brute yelped in pain and backed up, bringing his ax up defensively before him.

The lizard folk began hissing, their tongues flicking in and out of their mouths. It seemed to be the equivalent of clapping. Grurtkaa threw a clawed fist up into the air in victory. Sarra swiftly shut her eyes and turned away from the fight.

The hobgoblin, embarrassed and enraged, went on the offensive, weaving intricate patterns in the air with his heavy ax. Gant could do nothing but defend himself against the deadly swipes. The ax swished by, nearly taking off his nose, and he stabbed straight out, striking the hob in the gut. Unfortunately, the brute's chain mail protected it, the hob merely grunting at the impact of the stab.

They fought furiously now, ax and sword clanging and clashing together as they both sought an advantage over the other. The hob chopped downward, hoping to split the dwarf's head like a rotten pumpkin, but suddenly Gant wasn't there, and his sword lashed out, slicing into the hob's left arm just below the chain mail. The lizards hissed more loudly. Shak snarled in rage, while Grurtkaa leaped about in jubilation. The chief and his shaman watched the proceedings carefully.

The hobgoblin went berserk at the thought of losing to a dwarf. Hobgoblins and dwarfs have been bitter enemies since time immemorial. Gant had special reason to hate them, for hobgoblins had slain his father Brevard. Because of that, the dwarf had learned much about hobgoblin battle strategy. They were vicious and skilled warriors, but prone to losing their temper. When they did, they fought sloppily.

Their weapons clanged together five more times, and Gant feinted. The hob took the bait, and it was over. Singe came down hard at the brute's face, slicing it open. The hobgoblin groaned, dropped his ax, and collapsed backwards onto the ground.


End file.
